Saturday, January 20, 2007

Waiting for Imelda

Well, what can I say? All my greatest fears have come true. My beautiful state of the art production studio has been completely destroyed. You and I know who did it but my lawyer who luckily escaped the the conflagration has advised me that due to a little something called 'burden of proof' I should remain silent and let him pursue revenge, I mean justice through legal channels. (brief pause) I can't remain silent in the face of such overwhelming cruelty and spite. You know who you are, Francesca Fiori. One day I will have my revenge, I mean justice but until then I will remain above the fray. Luckily I stll have my cell phone, a pack of matches and a mirror and through a technique calle 'faint hope' technology I will at least be able to provide you with at least an audio version of chapter three. Sure it's not high definition HDTV quality video but will have to do for now. Perhaps it's for the best becaue I must admit that I'm not at my best visually at the moment but my voice is as youthful and diamond bright as ever. So sit back, close your eyes and enjoy chapter three of my bestselling autobiography 'Buddy Babylon.'

Waiting For Imelda

When I woke up the next morning, Tino and I were in each other's arms. Fely was nowhere to be seen. That was to be expected. I'd paid her, and she'd done her job, and now she was gone. I was under no illusions about hookers. I began to dress quickly. Suddenly, Tino shrieked.
"My wallet is gone," he said. This was bad. But then it got worse.
"The magazine that I was reading is gone!" I shrieked. "I had the new ‘People’. You people won't get the new ‘People’ for months. This is a disaster. We've got to find that whore."
There was a knock at the door.
"Buddy, are you ready? It's time for the photo shoot."
It was Ronald. This was just like that time in Montreal with Rolly. Life keeps repeating, just like chili. And sitcom plots.
"Coming," I said, and got up. I looked at Tino. "I have to go. I'll meet you later tonight at the Bird's Nest, about midnight," I said. "We'll get my magazine back. And also your wallet." And with that, I was off.
The shoot was uneventful. I went through the paces, like a pro, but my mind was constantly on Tino and the coming confrontation. I don't know what excited me more - sex with a soldier, or a catfight with a hooker.
At the end of the shoot, when we were all leaving, I noticed a heavily tanned, dark-haired man with a reptillian handsomeness, talking to the photographer. When I looked closer, I realized it was George Hamilton. Ronald immediately brought me over to meet him.
"Mr. Hamilton, it gives me great pleasure to introduce the new face of Juicy Mango Jeans, Mr. Buddy Cole." I extended my hand and shook his leathery paw.
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Hamilton. I've seen all your movie." There was an awkward pause.
"So, it seemed to go well today," he said.
"Yes, they were very professional for a third world crew," I said archly.
"Have you had much experience in the Third World, Mr. Cole?"
"Does Canada count?"
"Canada always counts," he replied. Damn his charm. "I know Margaret Trudeau."
"Who doesn't?"
"I had no idea she was married. Anyway, have you been modelling long?"
"No, Mr. Hamilton, I'm new to all this. I'm an ingenue, a bottle of just-uncorked champagne. How about you? Got any bubbles left?"
"Oh, one or two," he said smiling. I couldn't believe it. His charm was getting to me. I hate it when people I want to hate turn out to be likeable.
"You must come over to Malacanang Palace one of these days, to meet Imelda. She loves what you're doing for the ass of her pants. Believe me, she notices good work. Well, I'm off to supervise some slave labour." He flashed me a killer smile and sauntered over to the door where the very same blonde man in the yellow Jaguar waited. They exchanged a few words and left. What was this?
That night, Ronald and I met for drinks in the lounge of the hotel. I used it as an opportunity to ask him things that had been on my mind for a long time.
"Why couldn't you have said goodbye to me at the end of the 'Prettiest Feet' tour?"
"I just can't say goodbye. It's the English in me. Besides, I knew we'd meet again.
"I see you're still with Dianne. She still hasn't found him, has she?"
"That's why we first came here. I personally don't care if we ever find him. I just want to have Dianne back. I was told there was a faith healer here who could cure her of her obsession. We went to his place out by Smokey Mountain, and he pulled a lot of black gunk out of her stomach, but she never let go of that cursed rock." Ronald looked sad.
I realized that Ronald Coleman was just like his movie star namesake - debonair, honourable, refined, gracious, and yet world-weary. It was as if the name came first and his personality just grew into it, like plaster filling a mold.
"Buddy, I was upset with your behaviour in the limousine on the way in from the airport."
"What do you mean?"
"It was callous when you threw the egg back at the little boy."
"I thought I was being funny," I said.
"Well, you weren’t. Do you realize you make more money in one day as a model than that little boy will make in his entire life? Do you realize that when he turns thirty, he will be old? Of course, you're gay, so you too will be old by the time you're thirty. You're in another country, Buddy. Open up and let it in."
"I had sex with a Phillipino last night," I offered. "Actually two. A guy and a girl."
"Oh, Buddy," he said wearily, getting up. “The shoot tomorrow is at ten. Don't be late. Imelda will be there." He left. Wow, I'd finally get to meet Imelda. I'd never met a dictator’s wife before. I wondered if you could tell just by looking. But why was Ronald so angry with me? Was I really an ugly foreigner, no better than an American tourst looking for a Mcdonald’s in Paris? I vowed to make it up tonight with Tino. I'd pay for everything.
At midnight, I walked into the Bird's Nest. Tino was already there, making time with another girl.
"Buddy, this is Juanita. She's a friend of Fely. She says Fely has not been in tonight."
"Why would she be? She has my magazine. You could get a lot for current issue of ‘People’ on the black market. She's probably partying with the Sultan of Brunei by now."
"Fely not a thief. Fely is good girl," defended Juanita.
"She stole my magazine," I reminded her.
"And my wallet," chimed in Tino.
"Fely say your cock too big. You hurt her. She go to doctor," blurted out Juanita.
" Look, it's not my fault the socket’s too small," I defended. Tino glared at me.
"Look, Juanita, we just want to know where Fely is. We're not going to hurt her," said Tino bringing some masculine calmness to the exhange. I knew what to do. I flashed a five hundred pound peseta note. Juanita's mood changed considerably.
"Fely is a bitch. I never like her. She stay upstairs, room six."
"Juanita, here's five hundred more. Tell mama-san we want to go upstairs with you."
"I do that," she said. She whispered something in mama-san's ear, and led us upstairs. We walked down a dimly-lit hallway that reminded me of a bathhouse which was strangely comforting.. We came to room 6 and listened at the door. We could overhear a girl talking inside.
"Canadian man have big ugly cock, they hurt me. Phillipino men are poor. I like rich Chinese like you." This was the place. It sure sounded like Fely.
We pushed open the door and barged in. An older Chinese man sat on the edge of the bed holding a picture of his dead wife, crying while a girl was masturbating him. She bolted up. It wasn't Fely.
"Get out, Joe!" She started throwing things at us and yelling in Tagalog. Mama-san came upstairs swiftly, followed by two goons who rather rudely escorted us out of the club. Outside, as we picked ourselves up, I whirled on Tino.
"That bitch lied to us," I said. "First Fely, then Juanita. You can't trust a whore."
"Don't call Fely that."
"Are you getting sweet on her? Listen, keep your eyes on the prize, Tino. We can't let our emotions get involved. From here on in, we're Navy SEALS."
"I think I love her."
"And I love you!" I blurted out.
"No you don't," he said.
"No I don't," I agreed. Whoosh, that was close.
"Look, we can't do anything else tonight," said Tino. I know where there's a cockfight." "That sounds like fun," I said, brightening. The evening wouldn't be a total waste after all.
We hopped into a jeepney and rode to the outskirts of Manila, near Tino's base. The cockfight was taking place in a nearby scrapyard. When we got there, there were about sixty men of various ages, some as young as fourteen, all gathered around a circle made of tires. Everyone appeared to be drunk. I was the only white person. But the incredible amount of alcohol consumed by everyone erased all barriers. The crowd greeted us with warm embraces and smiles. We were all just drunken men, preparing to bet money on animals that would tear each other to shreds. I felt charged with primitive bloodlust.
Tino and I took our seats on the fender of an old rusted-out jeepney. It was at the end of the program, and the second fight had just finished. Everyone was girding for the final battle of the night, a bout between the champion rooster, John Wayne, and the contender, Bruce Lee. The owners brought out their cocks. They beamed with pride as they held them up over their heads, and the crowd cheered for their favourites. Everyone placed bets with the guys running the fight, who circulated amongst the crowd. The metal talons which the owners made the roosters wear on their claws flashed. Very deadly stilleto heels. A big light attached to a noisy portable generator flickered on and off overhead, as the ‘Theme from Rocky’ blared over a tinny loudspeaker.
Tino bet on John Wayne and I bet on Bruce Lee. I always supported the underdog. John Wayne seemed to have the biggest support but Bruce was clearly a contender. John Wayne swaggered out, all macho bluster. Bruce Lee went into a crouch and uttered a high pitched shriek. John was unfazed and held his ground. Bruce immediately went into a flip and came down behind John. John got confused.
That was all Bruce needed. He slashed John Wayne's back savagely, and feathers and blood sprayed the ring. John lost all pretense of acting tough and started shrieking and flapping his wings. Like a chicken, really. Bruce would have none of it, and coolly pecked half a dozen times at the Duke's head. He fell to his knees, or whatever they’re called on a rooster, and his crest fell. The crowd was stunned. John hadn't even gotten in a peck yet. His owner ran into the ring and bent down. He put his mouth over the bird's beak and began to blow in and out. Slowly, John came to. He stirred and then jumped up, reinvigorated. The owner ran back to his place, and the fight resumed.
Bruce, who thought it was all over, had gotten cocky, and didn't see John's recovery. He never knew what hit him, as John ruthlessly slashed at Bruce's chest with his claws. Their talons locked in a death grip, and they rolled around in the ring, each pecking each other's head. I put my hand on Tino's lap. He was hard. I felt like Ernest Hemingway at the Running of the Bulls. Finally, the birds pulled apart. They both appeared mortally wounded. Their heads slumped against each others shoulders. Then they fell to the ground and died in each other's wings. All bets were called off, and the crowd dispersed. - deeply disappointed.. Tino and I went back to my hotel, where we fell immediately asleep, spoon-fashion, in our clothes.
The next morning I found myself posing in front of a camera once more. There was so much going through my mind that I found myself phoning in the performance. I couldn't concentrate, thinking about the articles I hadn't read in my ‘People’ magazine. In the middle of one particularly lacklustre pose, there was a commotion at the back of the studio. Immediately, the atmosphere in the room changed, and everyone's backs stiffened. There were men with guns, followed by a flash of scarlet and turquoise. And then, there she stood, Imelda Marcos. She was beautiful. Ageless. Richly dressed. Morally bankrupt.. The Queen of Hearts. I looked into her eyes and felt a mixture of terror and awe, the perfect conditions for performing. Suddenly my body became a supple wand of energy. I began to pose with bravaura.
Imelda had been joined by George Hamilton, who hung on her every word. They sat at the back and gossiped and giggled, completely ignoring me. I kept waiting for a break so that I could meet her, but the shoot went on and on. Imelda never once looked over. Then abruptly, surrounded by her guards, she got up and left. George lingered. I couldn't believe it. Who did she think she was, some dictator? Supposedly, she had hand-picked me for the gig and now this is how she treats me? I spoke to George.
"An introduction would have been nice.”
"I know, and believe me, Ma'am is very anxious to meet you, but she has a lot of responsibilities right now. We're off to Unacao Island tonight, and she has a lot of packing to do. But trust me, she loves what you're doing. She saw yesterday's contact sheets and she's thrilled."
"But she didn't even look at me. She just stayed at the back and gossiped with you. I'm sure it was interesting. What were you talking about? Who's In, Who's Out. ."
"Buddy, if it's any consolation, you're In."
"That’s good, because your friend Imelda is Out! That kind of rudeness will never be In. It must be true what the rabblie is saying in the streets, that she's gone mad. Anybody who could turn away from what I was just doing in that photo shoot had to be insane. With manners like that, you know it's close to the end. Mark my words, the Marcos' regime has as much life left in it as your skin, George. This shoot is over!"
"Yes, I know. We got everything we need. You'll be going home in a couple of days."
"I'm still storming out." And so, I did. I was always true to my word.

Gabcast! ewe #16 - Waiting for Imelda

In which Buddy Cole discovers the true meaning of cockfights.


Orange Alert

Originally uploaded by splorp.

Hang in There Baby

I managed to find an old bi-plane hidden in the jungle so I set it on auto-pilot, climbed onto the wing and took off. I'm almost there ewesies. I can't wait not just because of the blogcast but I need some moisturizer pronto. This wind is killing my skin.

Originally uploaded by Desmo Dave.

Almost There

Originally uploaded by Robby Garbett.

Don't worry! I"m fine. A word of caution however. Don't wear heels in a boat with a paper bottom. Who knew boats could even be made of paper or that my feet were the same size as my horses? I'm still determined to do the videocast however. It takes more than a sunken boat and a dead guide to hold me back. Hang in there ewesies. I will prevail.

My Horse Loses a Shoe

Mount Rainier Train
Originally uploaded by moliere1331.

I had a little accident on the trail and one of the horses, well mine actually, slipped on a rock while crossing a shallow river and wrenched her ankle so we've been forced to abandon the horses and hop a train. I blame myself. The guide, said she wasn't ready for high heeled horse shoes but I insisted. I just thought that she'd look a lot better with a lengthened calf. The truth is she did but the problem was, since I only had two horse heels, I could only put them on her back legs and the result was that I was pitched so far forward that my ass was actually higher than my head. I’m convinced that this is why my guide actually rode behind me so actually it was his fault.

After the incident the guide wanted to shoot him on the spot but I intervened and suggested that she be given to a local village as a gift so that's what we did. As we walked away from the village, I heard a shot and wanted to go back but my guide stopped me and said, "Buddy, It takes a family to raise a child but it takes a village to eat a horse. So true.

Despite this minor setback I vow that I will still make tonights first video blogcast as promised or my name isn't Charles "Butterick" Cole.

Thursday, January 18, 2007

Into the Breach

I can't put it off any longer. I have to tell you what's been going on. I'm going to be away for a little while but that does not mean that I won't be blog-vigilant. I will be posting regularly from the road using the newest satellite technology. The reason for the visit is muliti-purpose. The part I can tell you about because it directly concerns ewe is that on Saturday if all goes well, I will be snug and secure in my new state of the art production studio deep in the heart of a country I can't name for security reasons.

Well, my worst fears have come true. It appears that Francesca is not alone any longer. She has joined forces with none other than Dr. Robert Young the cosmetics magnate who made billions off of a formula for ashy elbows and knees I scribbled onto a napkin and then sneezed into. Yes, this is the kind of person we're dealing with. A ruthless predator. A shark. Someone who will stop at nothing to get to the top. Someone I would have no understanding of. He's a very mysterious individual, who has never been photographed except one picture of his ear. So that’s not a lot to go on. You ask, “well what did he look like Buddy?” After all you knew him. That’s the thing. I can’t remember. He has this ability if you can call it that where you immediately forget what he looks like the moment you leave him. Even the camera forgot him. It could only remember his ear. That picture was a full on face shot. I took it.

So number one we don't know what we're looking for. Number two, he has vast sums of ill gotten money, Francesca's threat suddenly has some bite. My question is ‘Why’? Why this animosity towards me, someone who has always tried to do good even when evil was all around. The only answer I can give you is simple. They hate beauty. After all it's me who was wronged. I could be sitting pretty right now but all because I had a cold and wouldn't use my sleeve I'm rotting in a third world hellhole accused of a crime I didn't commit. Well, I'm not in an actual third world prison but it feels like it. I should be silent. I’ve said too much. I don't know how far their plans have gone but all we can do is continue to build this wonderful world that is taking shape around us and hope for the best. I'm off. I have to saddle up the horses.

Dave Foley Drops By

Dave Foley just dropped by. Turns out he's got a new home on the web too. It's at a place called SuperDeluxe. He loves it. There's no poker allowed. It was great to catch up and gossip. He told me a horrifying story about a very famous movie star he knows who has a thing for horses which explains all the westerns he did. He left us a delightful link showcasing his love of hard science. Indeed.

Sweet dreams

Originally uploaded by Bruce Hastings.

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

Naomi Judd:Hepatitis in the Key of C

I just got off the phone with Naomi Judd. She's such an inspiration. She's full of vague hepatitis pain and she' s still up making a bundt cake for Wynona because she's going on the road. What? There's no restauarants on the road. No greasy spoons? No McDonalds? No roadside pie stands? I'm sorry but I just get so upset when I see elder abuse. We had a big laugh about her recent appearance last week on Larry King. She said 'quote', he was an old dear even if he was a bit of a stuffed shirt.' That's swearing Naomi style. I'll tell you one thing. She sure doesn't understand the internet. I told her I was going to post her interview and her song of courage 'Hepatitis in the Key of C' and she said why would you mail me my own songs. And I guess she does have a point. Why, exactly.

Gabcast! ewe #14 - Naomi Judd: Continuing to Inspire

Naomi drops by Larry King to have her self love reaffirmed by the curmedgeonly pair of suspenders.

Gabcast! ewe #15 - Naomi Judd: Hepatitis in the Key of C

Naomi tells her story of hope and affirmation and reaffirmation and eventually rereaffirmation.

On the Dance Floor

After all that soul baring, I think we need to dance. This little number was written and performed by my dear friend Tedwig Dunn. Wig for short. That's him in the picture. He's not actually a drag queen. He's actually the straightest man you could find but one night we both got all dolled up for some charity and paraded about the city handing out buttons. Of course we got rolled but we collected eghty dollars for the United Way.

Gabcast! ewe #13 - On the Dance Floor

Babylon Two:The Bitch is Back

Ever since I first decided to expose myself online I've been in a state of grace. The more I pour my heart out to you the bigger it gets. Blogging has, not to put too fine a point on it, saved my life. If it wasn't for this blog I would still be dodging dell phones from Miss Allanah Stewart. Oh who am I trying to kid. I never worked for Allanah Stewart. I should be so lucky. That woman is a saint. Met her once in a ski tow lineup in Gstaad. She got knocked down by a group of queue marauding Italians. She just picked herself up, said "Gracia" and let the T-bar whisk her away. The truth is I never worked for anybody. I was selling poppers at a sauna in Frankfurt. Not even Berlin. And it wasn't even for me. I worked for someone. I had a popper pimp. It's part of the German social safety net. It was originally a program started for male hustlers when they got too old to shake it but now it's been outsourced to the Turks. Most of them live in Germany anyway so it makes it alot easier. So I guess I did work for someone after all.

So there you have it. The whole stinking mess. Do you like the stink? I do or at least I did, that is until I found Blog. I think if Jesus were alive today he'd be blogging. Not that I'm comparing myself to Jesus or any of the apostles even though I would definitely have been one if I'd been alive then. Absolutely. The moment I heard this Jesus character was in town I'd be all over him like a dirty robe. More wine my lord? May I wash your feet? Oh! I'd love it. And I'd be funny too so he'd want to keep me around. I'd have definitely had a chapter or two in that stupid book. Not that I'm attacking the good book, it's just that when I look at it's numbers, sometimes I get jealous. Maybe I should have put pictures in 'Buddy Babylon' like the Bible did in the First Edition.

My point is, I am just so excited about the next gabcast, I can't tell you. There's only one wrinkle. I shouldn't. Well, you deserve to know. Okay. I've been having some difficulty retrieving my e-mail and I have a feeling it's a little more than general network fluctuation. I received an e-mail marked 'urgent: chita's health update' and I thought, "Oh my God, something's happened to Chita Rivera." I mean she is getting up in years and even though the tumbler still looks good, there's not much drink left. So I opened it up and an avatar of Francesca Fiori suddenly filled the screen. She looked at me with hate in her eyes and eye shadow, and said " Good luck on your gabcast Gabby" and then it dissapeared. Gabby? That is so lame. That's why I'm not that worried. She's obviously losing it. However we must be prepared for the worst. I'm going to have a drink. Why don't you join me.

Get Ready for Chapter Three

Just a little reminder that on Saturday, I will be gabcasting chapter three of the ongoing series, "The Missing Buddy Babylon". I can hardly bear the excitement. I can't imagine how you are all feeling. After all, I've already lived it and I survived. I have no idea how ewe will fare. So girdle your loins and set your right brain on hilarity because you'll need all the lobes you can get. What do you think of the picture? it was a photo taken by an animated friend of mine. I thought he meant effusive but apparently he meant actually animated. Perhaps this is how he sees me. I know what you're thinking. Buddy, you look a little cartoony. I'm fine with that. Believe me I've been called worse than a cartoon. Must be off. Have to meet Sal for a meeting on a possible new album. Legs crossed. Buddy.

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

Enjoy Your Cookie

I know who k_batti is. It's not a computer program. It's none other than my arch enemy Francesca Fiori. I was supposed to follow that link she left the other day for 5,000 dollars but I was too clever for her. I recognized a certain familiar tone to Miss ._batti. I let ewe all think that I had fallen for her ruse but that was just a counter ruse to get her to let her electronic guard down and when she did I swooped in and grabbed her cookie and foiled her plans. Suffice to say the last few days have been trying as I try to upgrade the site, post provocative new episodes and fight off constant electronic attacks from Francesca Fiori and her gang of teenage hackers. I know how she keeeps those young ones glued to her side. She may think she's Pamela Smart with an accent but she's really Fagin after a bad sex change. After all Brazil is the capital of tranny wizardry. I'm just saying she looks a little hard. Maybe she's just aging badly. I don't know how that must feel. I know some of you may enjoy her outsize antics and overreactions to absolutely EVERYTHING!!!! See how she gets me. But this is war. I'm not asking you to choose yet but it might come to that. She sent me a comment marked 'only for my eyes' and one day perhaps I will share it with you but at the moment I don't want to cause any alarm. Besides the language is so scalding I must keep this monstrous missive marked me. As I contemplate the bitterness that has grown between the House of Cole and the House of Fiori I can't help but think back to the old days when Francesca and I were, if not friends, not unfriendly, and I wonder if there could actually be a truce one day. In hopes of this development I am posting excerpts of a concert that two friends of mine attended of one of Miss Fiori Puntz Jones' concerts. The m.c. is Sal Surroundo.

Gabcast! ewe #11 - Chester and Jason

Long time lovers Chester and Jason get giddy with it in anticipation of a performance by Francesca Fiori.

Gabcast! ewe #12 - Enjoy Your Cookie

Francesca Fiori sings a heartbreaking and ballbreaking protest song about our outsurced world.

Pepper Pot

I would like to direct your attention to the far left. Can you see it? The new link to the podcast. Now I would like to direct your attention directly to your left, to the lady in the peignoir who is so excited about the podcast that she's thrown herself onto a filthy bed in a sleazy motel because she's too excited to stand. Did I say Lady. She's actually one of my dearest friends and sometime guest vocalist Dalia House. Funny story. We actually lived in an actual house together during many of these very recordings. I love this picture. Dalia had just recorded some farting noises for a song and she's celebrating by rolling around on the bed. And that's exactly what you should do when you listen to the next track. It's called 'Pepperpot' for obvious reasons and it's quite possibly one of our most under rated performances. Completely improvised of course, it's a textbook example of what happens when the Delta Blues meet Blue Peter. Sal and I had a great time. Lots of give and take. Me taking. Him giving. Then me taking again. And then I would give. We were joined by our regular lineup that included the idiiosyncratic guitar genius Adolf Diller, our loveable and groovesome bassist Yum Yum and on drums, the shaggy haired poet of tympani, Tim Pani. This is the twenty third song of our second album 'A Piece of Life.' It's a celebration of sex, love and sex.

Gabcast! ewe #10 - Pepperpot

A trip into the funkidiculous featuring Sal Surroundo.


Monday, January 15, 2007

Podcast Celebration

Today was another cause for celebration. Ewe has made another leap. As you can see ewesies, I've upraded the old girl for you. I've added a little something called RRS or RSS or SSS or something with a lot of s's that will allow more people to find us. ( clapping hands together like the best cheerleader in the squad) Everybody say YAY! As well, I made it available to podcasts. Yes, you heard that correctly. I am now podcasting. Sure, the only pod I'm casting to is a school of dolphin off the coast of Catalina but dolphins are gossipy creatures and every celebrity goes to Catalina. It's only a matter of time before our audience is in the double digits. I hope we can handle the ride. You probably noticed that I just used the we word. That's because I've been thinking about all you who have been there from the beginning. Lana, Anonymous aka Orestonio,, Bi-Polar Bear,Carlos, and the newbies Guysterrules, mrratman, a_LIster, sandman,and of course k_batti the computer program. Her visit may have been brief but her impact will be great. Thankss everyone. (extra s courtesy of RSS) I would break open bottle of champagne but there doesn't seem to be any left. Liz loves her champers. So instead of champagne I burned my plastic patio furniture. I won't be needing it anymore anyway. From now on it's bamboo or nothing. Speaking of Liz, she's finally gone. The Lord of the Exchequer called. They forgot their password to the Royal Mint. What a relief. Don't worry. She'll be back. Slut, I mean Salut!

Grabbyhandy Cops a Royal Feel

Liz is still here if you can believe it. She's been here since New Year's Eve. It's one thing to have a queen overstay his welcome but it's another when it's a Queen. You'd think someone would notice that she's gone like maybe England but the truth is, no one's called, not even the exschequer. She's putting up a brave front but I can see it's affecting her. To cheer her up I'm posting a picture of her in her prime with some grabbyhandy stage manager of some sort who was backstage when Liz was getting ready to address Parliament. Looks like he thought he could cop an easy feel. The problem is, he was right. The Queen's a tart, there's no nice way to put it but I love the old gal. I just wish she'd go home.Gabcast! ewe #9 - A Queen's Lament

It's late at nght, there's no more booze, the drugs are wearing off and all you've got left is the music. Oh look, more drugs. Yaay!

Sunday, January 14, 2007


This is a picture of Sal at a recording session in the late eighties. He never wore a shirt when he recorded and went everywhere with an extremely tall bass player called Tally. That's him in the background. Sal was a sweater, one of the best in the business, and the control booth as anyone knows is the hot seat so he chose to wear as little as possible. What can I say? It worked. LIsten to this little ditty recorded by the one take wonder Eddie Farce, also know as Pillory Delue, Bryan Billingsley, Scratch Simpson, Wesley Flap and Tom King. In it Eddie bares his heart about blue balls and Sal, knowing there's magic in the room, backs off and lets Art take the floor. I hope you enjoy this as much as I. If you become too emotional, feel free to leave a request in the comment room for Rebecca Fleck:Grief Counsellor at Large. She's always there for you. Take it away Eddie.Gabcast! ewe #8 - Bare

A Wig

Gabcast! ewe #7 - A Wig

A song about the enduring appeal of wigs. In this undated photo I'm wearing a little number from the Eva Gabor collection. It was known as 'Downtown' but on me it looked more like 'Trashtown'. If Eva knew what sights that particular number saw, she might never have started her line. My feeling is that wigs are children. All you can do is raise them the best way you know how and then let them out into the world to find their way and if that means me then so be it. At least the carpet matches the drapes. Look at it this way Eva. It could have been worse. It could have ended up on Zsa Zsa's head. I can just see the two of them in the afterlife fighting over one of Eva's wigs like an alternate world Dynasty. I know what some of you are thinking. That sounds like a nightmare. All I can say is, one man's hell is another man's heaven. At this point I would like to apologize to all the victims of Abu Ghraib but to be fair, the next time you find yourselves stacked up like cordwood try not to look so damn hot, As for the wig, it was a huge hit. I wore it for a gig at the 'Silver Dollar'. I also wore ripped tights, white cowboy boots, a halter and a chain mail jock. Sal wore nothing but a Japanese yew and a coke scowl. It was scandalicious. The best part was the audience. Those seven people never forgot that night.


the perfect martini
Originally uploaded by berbercarpet.

Gabcast! ewe #0 - Beverage

'Beverage' is another of the collaborations that were so much of a hallmark of 'Mouth Congress'. We rarely rehearsed and almost never performed and generally never even wrote anything down so it was very difficult to reproduce the right sound onstage. We made up for it by wearing lots of costumes which naturally we would remove until at the end of every show pretty much everyone on stage would be nude and I would be mounting either the drums, the drummer or the speakers. This technique allowed us to remain fresh or years. Some might even say that if 'Mouth Congress' were to return that they would be fresher than ever. I may be biased but I can't disagree. Cue 'groundswell of popular opinion demanding a comeback'. LIke Testicle Delight, it comes from the same album, " The War on Flowers', available soon from 'Super Greatest Lady Records'. As you listen , close your eyes and try to imagine what it was like that hot Summer of Like when beverage choice was so limited, a world before Snapple, Fruitopia, Infused Green Teas, Pomtini's and even the juice which changed the rules of the beverage world, 'Tropicana'.

Lady Photographer

Originally uploaded by .ruzz.

Gabcast! ewe #0 - Lady Photographer

This was an experimental piece created entirely in the studio by the legendary producer behind the band, Sal Surroundo, a refugee from Malta who landed in Toronto in the eighties out of nowhere and helped launch the 'Summer of Like' with his 'Coming In' party on the rooftop of Vaseline Tower. This Yoko Onoesque classic is a reflection of the times, a period when we 'flowers' were wilting on the vine and sometimes the vine got a little woody. Marco says to leave it there. He says I'm treading into 'hot' water, treacherous female waters where no man can survive not even me. Marco also says that's him in the song and that I'm hardly even in it. That may be true but what he forgets is that I brought the drugs.